Tales Of A Pessimist
by Dillywillyfoo
Summary: Ack, I started this fanfiction about certain teachers that me and my friends know, and some kid I made up. (I didn't use their real names just in case... because that would be awful.) It's a tad slow in the beginning but it gets suggestive near the end, and will be MUCH more in later chapters. Suggestions and constructive criticism encouraged and all that jazz, thanks for reading!


**Chapter 1: ****The Wonders of Sexual-Frustration**

I was staring out the dusty, cracked window in this prison-of-a-school. Ok, it's not _that_ bad. The teachers are mediocre, the food is so-so, and I haven't gotten stabbed yet so I suppose it could be worse. I guess it's just that being cooped up in a building for 5 hours a day 5 days a week takes a toll on a person's morale. It's in the middle of December, I'm a freshman at Mapleview High school, and am zoning out on the outdoors. I was raining a _lot. _I was practically mesmerized by the jaw-dropping amount of puddles violating the cold, wet cement. The raindrops were coming from the fully cotton-ball clouds, and throwing themselves at that poor, defenseless ground, already having the burden of having to try and take their mind off of the Puddles' personal-space issues. It was almost like the puddles and the raindrops had plotted some diabolical plot to slowly break-down the cement mentally, and drive it into the brink of insanity. Other people might think, however, that it's really fucking wet outside, but whatever. "Benji Patrone...Mr. Benji Patrone?" I heard but didn't listen to. It took me a painstaking 5 seconds to realize that, first of all, that's my name, and also how helpful it is to repeat someone's damn name. As if I would magically give a damn about him taking attendance and respond to his half-assed question. I did. "Ehh." I described so vividly and enthusiastically. I then continued to daydream, but not about the rain. Our teacher wasn't in today, for whatever reason, so we had a substitute. His name was Mr. Banks. I have no idea what his first name is, and to be completely honest, I couldn't care less, as I was much more interested in his magical ability to make me more sexually-frustrated than a school-girl in some crappy anime. His eyes were the kind of hazel that you'd only see in the purest of hazelnuts, and I swear if you looked really close, you could see them literally sparkle. His hair was a deep brown that looked so silky smooth that even the king of Egypt would feel unworthy of using it as a bed sheet. His lips were so plump and round, they most closely resembled a recently picked peach, at just the right time from just the right tree. I threw my head onto my desk, quiet enough as not to bring attention to, but hard enough as to make an honest attempt to put myself into a coma. I needed to stop having these lewd thoughts. So I just continued my rain fantasy until the 1st period was over, the period I was in. I then gathered my stuff and dragged the day on even further by going to my 2nd period. Science. Whoot-fucking-whoot. I was totally prepared for the same routine, "get your homework out that you didn't learn anything from and then listen to her monotonically boring voice drone on about stupid bull-shit that you will never use while sitting in your cubicle in 10 years from now, wishing that you had the balls to kill yourself, for the remainder of the period. And since the periods were usually about 50 minutes, and going around drawing on peoples work takes about 5, we get to sit there for 45 minutes wishing this twat would get run over by a bus somehow." What I _wasn't_ prepared for, was the pop-quiz we were going to have. There is a special place in hell reserved for this abomination. Ms. Terrance? I hope you marry the man of your dreams, and he kills himself from the over-bearing disappointment of marrying you. I sat in my desk and stared at the notice on the board that stated this "pop-quiz." I then got the paper, which told me that it was the infamous pop-quiz. I then spent the next 10 minutes taking the quiz, and the remaining 35 minutes studying my pencil, as everything in her room, which resided in C-3, was a dull, grey color. You know how most teachers have a poster, picture, fucking anything on their wall to take the dreading visual of a decaying building? Not her, apparently, she's too special for any of that rubbish, so she just lets you soak in the horrible realization. I guess I'm being a little harsh to her, but quite frankly, I don't like her. Her cheery, optimistic attitude makes me cringe, as I know that she's not like that once her pretty little bright red heels hit the ugly, stain-filled carpet in her home. Maybe she takes her anger out on herself for not having a husband, and maybe being all along, not ever having anyone and forever being forced to work in this hell-hole until she "retires" where she has enough money to keep her shitty house and live on ramen and easy-mac makes her go insane. All I know is what I see now isn't her when she gets home; no one is ever that kind without an alternative motive. Her alternative motive is probably to get a husband so she can stop feeling so sorry for herself and maybe get a start on becoming a painter. Going to art school. Maybe even making some money off it. It's a pathetic dream, but at least she has one. I still don't like her. I still didn't like her when I left the room, rather quickly too, as now it was brunch and I get to reside in the cafeteria with my few friends. I love it; I've always hated crowds, as I'm a bit of a loner. As I was walking, however, I noticed in the corner of my eye, in the teacher's lounge. I started to stare at him, day-dreaming, but was abruptly interrupted by the sight of his lips interlocking with another man's! This man was . Oh God not . was almost as, if not just as, attractive as . So the very sight of their thick, supple lips interlocking was one the most arousing things I've seen, which caused me to get…well…my pants get tighter let's just leave it that. However, as I was daydreaming, I seemed to not notice, that Mr. Banks and were looking right at me! Fuck. They have _really_ pretty eyes.

5


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